


If This Old Heart Could Talk, It'd Say You're The One

by mickeysbubblebutt (brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, I wrote this ages ago, M/M, but forgot to post it, so here you go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:01:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/mickeysbubblebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'd been listening to Bon Jovi's misunderstood, and it gave me feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If This Old Heart Could Talk, It'd Say You're The One

Ian couldn’t sleep. That’d been par for the course the last couple of weeks. So, he wasn’t really surprised to find himself lying in bed, wide awake and restless. Beside him, Mickey appeared to be dead to the world. The sound of even Mickey’s slow, even breathing usually had a soothing effect, but not tonight.

He was lay there for a moment longer, wrestling with the desire to pull Mickey closer, or to just let the guy sleep.

Deciding on the latter, Ian threw his legs over the side of the bed; he padded quietly towards the living room. When Ian saw that a light was on, he hesitated just at the end of the hallway. It was a surprise to find Svetlana in the kitchen, rocking Yevgeny in her arms; he hadn’t heard the kid crying.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Ian muttered when he saw her freeze at the sight of him.

Their relationship had been… uneasy, since Ian had moved back into the Milkovich house. Svetlana hadn’t been happy about it, but she hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Every time Ian found himself alone with her, he felt a pang of guilt. They hadn’t talked much since he’d come back. Hell, she wouldn’t even look at him most days.

He would’ve walked away, giving Svetlana space, if it weren’t for the fact that Svetlana was trying to juggle a fussing Yev while trying to prepare his formula at the same time.

“You need help?” he asked cautiously.

Svetlana looked like she wanted to tell him to fuck off. But when the child in her arms gave a plaintive cry, she conceded.

“Take him,” she ordered tersely.

Settling Yev in his arms, Ian took up Svetlana’s earlier rocking motion. He smiled down at the little boy; it’d been a long time since he’d gotten to hold Yev. The trust Svetlana had shown before was long gone. Now, Ian wasn’t even allowed to be alone in the same room as Yev.

It didn’t take Svetlana long to finish preparing the formula. She reached for the kid, and turned her back on Ian without a word.

“I’m sorry.” 

 That made Svetlana pause. She glared over her shoulder at him.

“What?”

Ian shifted uncomfortably. God knew, he should’ve told her this weeks ago, before he’d even moved in.

“For before. With everything that happened. I’m so sorry,” he told her earnestly.

“What good is sorry?” Svetlana hissed. Ian was slightly taken aback by her hostility. “I trust you with baby, and look what happens. You take him, leave him in car.”

“That will  _never_  happen again,” Ian interrupted. “I’m on my meds now. I promise you, I won’t let you down like that again.”

“You make promises. If I have my say, you would not be back here. But my husband, he does not care. You can do it all again, and he will forgive you.”

All Ian could do was stare at her, unable to find the words to respond. The anger in Svetlana’s expression, coupled with the discomfiting guilt her words caused, had Ian flushing.

In the space of a couple of sentences, she’d made his relationship with Mickey sound so one-sided.

_She was exaggerating_ , Ian told himself. He stalked out of the kitchen, his shoulders hunched defensively.  _Yeah, Mickey had taken him back. But they’d talked things through._

Still, he was uncomfortable as he crawled into bed. He was shifting around, struggling to settle down, when Mickey’s voice sounded through the darkness.

“Everythin' okay?”

Ian started a little. 

“Shit, did I wake you?” he asked.

“Nah. I was just gettin’ cold. Couldn’t feel you next to me.”

Instinctively, Ian scooted closer to his boyfriend, wrapping himself around the other man. Mickey made a contented sound, and Ian felt himself relaxing.

“You and Lana get into it?” Mickey asked quietly. “I’ll kick her ass to the curb, if you want.”

“What? No, Mick, course not!” Ian got up on his elbow to glare down at Mickey.

“Want you happy,” Mickey told him simply.

Once again, Ian found himself struggling for words. It took him a few minutes to arrange his thoughts, to settle on how he wanted to approach this.

“Mick, you… you know I love you, right?” 

There was a moment of silence. Ian heard the mattress creaking a little as Mickey rolled over to look at him. The room was dark, but there was some light filtering through from the streetlight outside, allowing Ian to just barely make out Mickey’s expression.

“You’ve never said it before.”

His voice was so soft, Ian had to strain to hear him. Then, once he’d turned Mickey’s words over in his head, Ian felt himself tensing up again.

_Was this seriously the first time Ian had told Mickey he loved him?_

Feeling like the worst kind of asshole, Ian reached for Mickey’s hand beneath the covers. He linked their fingers together before leaning closer until their faces were only inches apart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Mickey attempted to shrug his words off, but Ian stopped him from saying anything by squeezing his hand. “Don’t do that,” he said, more sharply than he’d meant to.

“Do what?” Mickey asked.

“Act like it doesn’t matter.”

That earned him a humourless laugh.

“You think I’m gonna pretend that you tellin’ me you love me doesn’t matter?”

“I’m talkin’ about you not callin’ me out when I act like a dick. An’ don’t try an’ tell me I don’t.”

Mickey nodded mutely. He didn’t need to say anything, though; Ian knew what was going through Mickey’s head. Shifting closer, so close they were now practically breathing the same air, Ian rubbed his thumb reassuringly over Mickey’s hand. Although who he was trying to comfort at this point, he wasn’t sure.

“Do you…?” Ian took a deep breath. “You know I’m not gonna leave again, right?”

“Sure, man.”

There was something about the way Mickey said it, the forced casual tone, that made Ian’s chest hurt.  

“I promise you,” Ian said seriously, “I won’t pull that shit on you again, okay? Not if I can help it.”

“Guess that means I’m stuck with you, huh?”

“For as long as you’ll have me,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss Mickey softly.

“Sounds like a raw fuckin’ deal,” Mickey muttered, his lips curving into a mischievous grin against Ian’s.

“Jackass.”

Long familiarity with Mickey’s body had Ian finding a ticklish spot with ease. Their conversation forgotten, Mickey let out a little yelp and tried to swat away Ian’s hand. Laughing, they rolled around on the bed together, each trying to land on top.

And in that moment, they were happy. Things weren’t perfect, but Ian had never wanted perfect. All he wanted was the guy wriggling around beneath him, threatening to kick his ass.

Ian had plenty of time to convince Mickey that he wasn’t going anywhere.


End file.
